Something's Fishy
by LieutenantCrunch
Summary: Mike is allergic to shellfish and eats a lobster bisque during a meeting with a client.  Harvey takes care of him... in the bathroom.  Unbeta'd and written for a promp on SuitsMeme


**Something's Fishy**

**Suits**

**Mike/Harvey**

**Rating:** PG-13, all things considering and such.

**A/N:** Completed for a prompt. Poor Mike is allergic to shellfish. And Harvey does not care, dammit!

**Summary:** While in a meeting with a client, Mike is served a lobster bisque without him knowing. Only, he's allergic to shellfish.

–

The restaurant was fancier than Mike had ever seen. Everyone seemed to move is a sense of elegance and poise, walking smoothly without any bounce in their steps, sitting gently in to the custom chairs that were positioned strategically around the round tables, and most importantly, _not_ talking while they chewed.

Harvey had a meeting over dinner with a client and had insisted on bringing his associate for the experience in handling a client in a four-star restaurant. At first, Mike complained and whined, saying that he had no intention of joining, but of course, Harvey won. He basically dressed Mike himself, putting him in a three-piece suit that most certainly did not have a skinny tie. Once he was sure that he was presentable, Harvey drove them to the restaurant to meet their client.

When they arrived, the valet parking whisked away his car, and their client, Mrs. Amelia Robinson, was standing and waiting patiently by the door. Harvey was first to greet her, kissing the top of her hand before introducing his associate. Mike nodded, settling to just shake her hand. She smiled sweetly and led them in to the restaurant and to a table that was reserved for their meeting. Mike noticed the way Harvey walked and acted and did his best to mimic his movements; hands at his sides and not in his pockets, rolling his feet along the floor as he walked instead of slapping his feet to the ground, calm and composed.

Mrs. Robinson sat first, then gestured for Mike and Harvey to join her. Mike sat easily, sliding his chair as softly as possible along the ground until he was at a proper distance from the table. Their waiter seemed to float to them, serving a white wine in to their glasses. Harvey led a toast, lifting his glass and stating that he hoped everything goes will this evening. Even though he wasn't much of a wine drinker, Mike joined their toast and helped himself to a swig, forcing himself not to grimace at the taste.

Harvey and Mrs. Robinson began discussing the terms of their agreement while Mike waited patiently, fiddling his thumbs in his lap. The floating waiter returned and asked for their order. Before Harvey or Mike could speak, Mrs. Robinson said that they would be having her usual, insisting that she recommend their meal. Because she was their client, neither one of them objected.

In due time, they were served a creamy looking bisque. Mike noticed that it bore a resemblance to the mushroom bisque that he often had while his grandmother was still well, and he grinned. He didn't think anything else of it and helped himself to a spoonful. The taste wasn't mushroom, but since their client recommended it, and she was watching their every move, he couldn't refuse.

As the meeting continued and Mike picked away at his bisque, he noticed something wasn't right. It became harder to swallow, he noticed on one particular bite. He swigged the wine again, trying to open his throat, but it did no good. His skin became itchy beneath the suit; when he lifted his sleeve, he noticed the bumps lining his skin. By the minute, he felt his tongue swell and crowd his mouth. He began to panic. He was having an allergic reaction. This was not good.

Luckily, the meeting came to a sudden close in a matter of minutes when Mrs. Robinson said something about being late and rushed out of the door, leaving Harvey and Mike still at the table, standing as she left in a hurry. The deal was done, and Harvey was satisfied. Mike, however, was clinging to the chair and breathing heavier, wheezing, trying his best to get air in to his lungs. When Harvey noticed, his eyes widened.

"Oh, fuck, Mike," he breathed with a small pang of worry on his voice that made Mike shudder. If Harvey was worried, it was bad. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

Mike opened his mouth and worked his tongue, trying his best to get enough air to form words. He collapsed back in to his chair, holding on to his stomach and staring at Harvey with a panicked expression. He pointed to his tongue, his lips, his stomach, and the half-eaten bisque. Harvey looked from the bisque back to Mike.

"The bisque?" he asked dumbly, and Mike nodded. "It's a lobster bisque."

Mike gasped, trying his damnedest to get air in to his lungs. He was in a full-blown panic attack now, grabbing for his bag that rested on the chair. Finally Harvey sprang in to action, hoisting Mike to his feet and grabbing the bag, heading for the restrooms.

No one was in the restrooms when they entered. Harvey slammed the door shut and guided Mike to lean against the counter. He flung the bag onto the counter beside Mike and opened, rummaging around. His fingers wrapped around something long and slender and he pulled it out. An epipen. Mike nodded fiercely, eyes wide in panic and attempting to grab the pen.

"Mike, calm down. If you do this yourself, you'll probably hit something you shouldn't," Harvey said sternly, putting the pen between his teeth.

Without precaution, Harvey undid Mike's belt and the button on his slacks nearly at the same time, causing his associate to fight against him a little. Harvey slapped away Mike's hands before grabbing the fabric at his thighs and giving a harsh tug until they fell from his hips and down his legs. Mike whined, pushing against Harvey and shaking his head.

"Look, if I don't do this, you could die," he muttered around the pen.

Mike immediately stopped, tears springing to his eyes and wheezing. Harvey then grabbed Mike's hips and lifted him to the counter so he was sitting and settled himself between Mike's knees. Mike whined again, making another attempt to create distance. Harvey leveled him with a look, taking the cap off of the pen and holding it in his fist.

"Calm down, Mike," Harvey muttered, patting Mike's cheek with his free hand. "Look at me, Mike. _Look_ at me. Come on."

His associate was crying now, wiggling and whining, wheezing helplessly. Harvey forced him to meet his eyes and gave him a reassuring smile. Once Mike nodded, Harvey stabbed the pen in to Mike's leg, earning a cry of pain. Mike leaned forward and rested his head on Harvey's shoulder, wheezing still and trying his hardest to stop crying like a baby. Harvey just rose a hand and threaded his fingers through Mike's hair, palming his skull and making a _shushing_ noise. He found himself brushing his lips against his associate's temple as he nodded, whispering, "Good boy."

The adrenaline began to slowly work, Mike's throat opening and his wheezing subsiding. He finally managed to stop crying, pushing himself up from Harvey and leaning back against the mirror, his chest still heaving to get the much needed air. Harvey was watching him, waiting, making sure he was going to be okay. He kept their proximity, not daring to move away from Mike until he was absolutely sure that he was going to be okay. Gently Mike wiped his eyes against the back of his hand and grinned down at Harvey.

"I hate you," he breathed. "So much."

Harvey laughed and backed from Mike, capping the epipen and sliding it in to his pocket.

"No, you don't."

Harvey crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the nearest stall. Mike was still a little disoriented, not making any move to fix his appearance, namely pants. He just focused on breathing, one of his hands rubbing the spot where Harvey stabbed the pen in to his leg.

"Do you need to go to the hospital?" Harvey asked.

"No... no, I'm... fine. Just fine. Give me a minute." Mike waved his hand absently, not meeting Harvey's gaze.

"Why didn't you say anything when you first felt something?"

That made Mike look at Harvey. The worried look was now replaced with one that was stern and a little bit angry, much like a mother who was scolding her child. Mike shrugged a shoulder and wiggled a little, suppressing his grin.

"Appearances matter the most," he said simply, his voice a little breathy.

Harvey gaped. Then, he smiled.

"You're a fucking idiot."


End file.
